


Red

by FlamingBlueEyes



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing, Female clothing, Feminine Michael, Feminization, Kinda, Michael likes being called pretty, Multi, Panties, Praise Kink, just a life choice, not kinky, references to m/f relationship but not main part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6794086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingBlueEyes/pseuds/FlamingBlueEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Clifford in dresses and pretty things everybody! Because I think this fandom needs some Michael liking feminine things without it being kinky...or 100% kinky. ONESHOT </p><p>(references to a m/f relationship, but it's not a major or long thing so idk)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the only thing I will ever contribute to the 5SOS fandom simply because it's not my kind of fandom and I only wrote this because I couldn't get the idea out of my head. This is a **ONESHOT**. That means NO CONTINUATION, NO OTHER CHAPTERS, NO OTHER STORIES, ONE SHOT. I will never make a continuation or anything, so please don't ask. 
> 
> Also I don't know Michael Clifford, I don't know his life. I am just writing this for me. I don't know if any of this is true, but this is what I think of when I look at him.

**Red**  
**FlamingBlueEyes**

There was no way to describe it, the feeling of cloth swishing around his ankles. There was a slight pain in his feet from wearing his mother's shoes that were a couple sizes too big and a couple inches too high. He grabbed the ends of the dress, pulling it up so he could shuffle walk his way down the hall. Strutting down the corridor, he imagined crowds _oohing_ and _ahhing_ over his ensemble, commenting on how pretty he looked. The black dress and bright red lipstick he had stolen from his mother's bathroom accented his pale skin, and he couldn't help but feel happy.

Of course that would be the moment when his mother would chose to return from grabbing groceries. With a gentle smile she just sighed his name. He shuffle walked over to her, his eyes wide with excitement and joy. His mother was sweet and calm as she wiped the makeup off his face and told him to get his "big boy" clothes". Of course, that was always the comment that made his entire fantasy crumble. He could feel the wide smile fall from his face. Now Michael didn't have any problems with boy clothes, in fact he enjoyed them most of the time. However there was something, there was always something, about wearing something soft. Wearing something that clung to his skin and at the same time fanned out into beautiful waves around him when he sat down brought him so much joy. 

His mother sat him down at the kitchen table once he returned from his room in his "proper" clothes. "Mikey honey you're getting too old for this kind of thing." She stated as she gently rubbed away some bright pink blush that clung to his cheeks. He shrugged off the comment as he usually did, but his mother didn't let it go this time. She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eye. Something about that gaze told him that this whole fantasy was over. There would be no more runway shows or dances with fancy dresses and shoes. It was all going to fade away. 

For a couple years, it worked in his mother's favor. He stopped wearing her clothes and stuck with the "boy clothes". He grew up as the perfect little boy that they all wanted. He was able to smile and laugh, living life as if the days of finding the perfect outfit from his mother's closet didn't exist. But growing older held some consequences. 

As he grew up he became aware of things he hadn't before. Things like "gays" and "cross dressers" were suddenly words spat with venom at little boys who even dressed or looked slightly feminine. Boys who wore their hair too long became a mockery for being too girly, and boys who wore certain things were bullied in the shadows of schoolyards where teachers didn't bother to look. What was he supposed to do? When his hair was able to cover his eyes and barely brush his shoulders it was the perfect length. When his lips were a little too pink from nervously biting them, they were the perfect shade.

His solution? He retreated. He retreated into himself, letting his long hair get mistaken for "emo" or "goth". He retreated, and the bracelets he wore around his wrists completed his looks. His colors though, they were the hardest to let go of. Pinks and yellows, oranges and reds, they all had to be set free in order for him to continue with his facade. He had to stick with dark colors, and he found himself letting go of brighter things.

But then he found hair dye. He could remember the first time he saw a "goth" girl with carrot top colored curls. He remembered trying to hide his sweaty palms as he asked her what type of dye she used, and if it was hard to do. He could remember the itching of his scalp as he bleached his hair, wanting to make sure the colors showed up. He could remember every stroke as he painted on the color, bringing it back into his life. It became addicting. Once the color would start to fade, he had to replace it with a new one-a brighter one. And once he had gone through the rainbow, he had started mixing and matching them. Blue and purple. Red and Black. White. He started doing strange colors like lime green or pastel pink. They made him happy. 

He was doing a good job hiding the skeletons in his closet. He joined a band, got famous, and got to tour around the world making music and making things brighter. Sure he may have hesitated a bit too long when throwing out some one night stand's panties. He may have stared a bit too hard at the Victoria's Secret store windows, but for the most part he hid it well.

Until she came around. Like many of his conquests as a performer, she was just another one night girl to fill the time. The night started as many of them did, frantically touching each other, rushing to get back to the room, groping in the elevator. It was all normal. Yeah she was a bit more dominant than some of the other girls he had, but he didn't mind. It wasn't until they were naked, her on top, hands by his face, that things started to fall apart for Michael.

She was going slow, her hands always seeming to return to Michael's hair, which was bright pink this month. Michael was in the middle of trying to tune out some of the things she was panting in his ear. Most of the time girls thought that a confession of love at this point would somehow make Michael feel more for them, so he had gotten into the habit of pretending not to hear in so he could avoid that whole issue. However, this girl-this one night stand- leaned in and whispered something Michael couldn't ignore. 

"So pretty. Such a pretty boy." She muttered in his ear, and Michael couldn't stop the way his body reacted to the words. When she noticed, her eyes grew excited and she smiled at him. "You like that? Being my pretty boy for the night?" Michael could remember being unable to speak, her words knocking the air straight out of his lungs. From that point on her dirty talk got a lot more interesting, and Michael still found himself thinking back on it every now and then.

At the end of their night together she had stayed a couple minutes longer, her fingers running through his hair. "That isn't wrong you now, liking that kind of stuff." She said as she laid on her side. Michael faced away from her, unable to look into the eyes of someone who just took him apart so thoroughly. "It's not wrong to like being pretty." Michael had shuddered when she said the word, but didn't say anything even when she left.

However, a lot of things she had said stuck with him. He couldn't stop thinking about lacy red panties, and he knew it was no coincidence when he dyed his hair fire engine red. He thought about matching his hair and panties, going to a concert and knowing what lied under his clothes. His thoughts grew worse though. He thought of adding bras, skirts, dresses, large off the shoulder sweaters, and even heels. 

Needless to say when his mom received a package with no return address and Michael's name on it, she had been slightly confused. The only thing that stopped her from opening it herself was her son's own confusion at the package. Nervous, with a hint of terror, Michael had carried it up to his room, knowing in his gut it would change his life. He could remember opening it with the same caution one would use with a wild animal. He pulled out the wrapping paper and saw a tiny black bow. His heart nearly stopped.

Everything after that was terrifying and at the same time completely exhilarating. He could remember flying to the bathroom, pulling the garment on with extra care and caution. He could remember checking the lock several times before he was able to gain the courage to look in the mirror. They hadn't been anything special, just some red panties with a single black bow on the front. They were a bit small, but it didn't matter. He had his first pair, and that was enough. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment, give it a kudos if you liked it. If you didn't like it then I don't know why you read through the whole thing, but you do you.


End file.
